|The Ole Gray Mare, she ain't what she use to be...|
OR so you may think!
TAKEN: April 2014
When I started preparing the sauce for dinner this evening, my son walked into the kitchen and said, “Whoa there Mama… You really need to dye your hair!”
Not wanting to suppress his extremely keen sense of observation (forever embracing the fact that we are cleverly disguised as a normal family) I smiled and reinforced the obvious.
“No shit, Sherlock!” was all I said.
My hair started to go gray shortly after I gave birth to the twins over twenty years ago. It started with the odd lone white curly cue sprig, that would pop up on the crown of my head. Then, before long, it became readily noticeable that I was in need of colourful help.
For the last year or so, I've debated what to do. I'm almost embarrassed to admit that the stress of the last few years has thinned my locks but that doesn't mean I want to throw in the towel and shave my head.
Some advise me to just let it go white and embrace its magnificent hue and my curls; guess I'm just not sure if I'm ready for that. I do tire of the tri-weekly ritual of doing my roots but at this stage I am getting pretty efficient at it. I guess I'll just continue with the status quo, staying far away from harsh chemicals, as well as a brush and comb.
At the end of the day, I don't see my gray hair as a hindrance, I see it as a reward for finally embracing who I am. What can I say, change is exactly that... CHANGE. You either embrace it or you don't.
I may be good and gray but when it comes to my overall outlook the math is a 95/5 split.
95% GOOD n' 5% GRAY!